


Chelsea Buns for Tea?

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-03
Updated: 2012-04-03
Packaged: 2017-11-03 00:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/374818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John came home from the surgery, there was a priest passed out on the sofa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chelsea Buns for Tea?

John came home from the surgery that night to find a priest sleeping on the sofa. 

Well, not sleeping so much as passed out cold.

"Mrs. Hudson?" John called from the door. "Have you seen this?"

"What's that, dear? Oh, my," Mrs. Hudson gasped as she stopped beside John. "Is he still… alive?"

John stepped into the flat and held a limp wrist between his fingers.

"Yes."

"Oh… what…"

"I have…" John stopped suddenly. He _knew_ that hand. Dropping the wrist he shot up and backed away from the sofa, tripping over the coffee table and landing hard on the floor. "Fuck. Sorry, Mrs. Hudson," he muttered as he cradled his wrist. 

"Are you all right? Did… oh, oh, oh…" Mrs. Hudson clutched the doorframe for support. "Is that?"

John looked up. He could feel his jaw tightening while his stomach clenched, but at the same time an overwhelming sense of… joy enveloped him.

"It's a miracle," he said. 

The priest snorted and rolled over, falling to the floor with a thump.

"Oh _Sherlock_!" cried Mrs. Hudson, racing over to him and helping him up. "What have you done to yourself? And why are you wearing a cassock? Goodness sakes! look at you – when was the last time you ate? And where have you been? We've been worried sick, we thought you were dead, and your brother…"

Sherlock's head lolled back against her shoulder and then jerked upright. His eyes met John's. 

Laughter, bubbling and spurting welled up in John and he started to giggle, still on the floor, cradling his jammed wrist, legs propped on the coffee table. Sherlock began to laugh, too, a deep, rich sound. 

"You're back," John gasped. "You absolute bastard, you didn't die." He collapsed into a fit of giggles again. 

"Of course not, John," Sherlock said. "I couldn't let Moriarty _win_."

"And the…" John gasped for air. "Dog collar and cassock?"

"Would you believe a monastery?" Sherlock asked.

"Not for a second."

"Fair cop. I was in Tibet for a while, though."

"As a _priest_?" John laughed.

"No, actually as a tour guide. I needed a place to lay low for a while. To wait for Moriarty."

John sobered and shifted his gaze to Mrs. Hudson who was now openly weeping as she held Sherlock close. 

"We were… we mourned you," John said quietly. 

"I know. I'm… sorry for that. It was… necessary."

"And so you're back?"

"Yes."

"You know Lestrade's been demoted. He's working his way back up – everyone expected he'd be sacked but…"

"No, he wasn't. Mycroft took care of that."

"Your- but Mycroft was the one who sold you ou-…"

" _John_."

"He knew?"

"Of course he knew."

"Oh. Right." John hauled himself to his feet. "I'll be back."

"But John, where…" Mrs. Hudson asked. "Sherlock's just…"

John turned at the doorway. 

"Don't you go anywhere," he told Sherlock. "Won't be long Mrs. H."

"But…"

"I wouldn't worry, Mrs. Hudson," John heard Sherlock say. "He's going off to chin my brother, I should think. Should be back in time for tea if Mycroft doesn't have him arrested. Do you think you could make some Chelsea Buns?"

**Author's Note:**

> Not mine, no money. Thanks to ArdyForShort, BrewsterNorth, and Estelle for the insta-twitter help!


End file.
